She was sweating; Cole would wonder what she’d been up to. But Carla didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, they weren’t on speaking terms. Oh, I want to kill him, she thought as she swept her shoes methodically across the floor.
She imagined how she would kill him, in what way she would take his life. Thinking of the possibilities, she almost missed it. But there it was... a pen. She contorted into an impossible position to see it. A Bic ballpoint.
Carla kicked off her shoes and tried to grasp the smooth sides with her toes. She was on her stomach now, her intent to bring the pen up behind her...it fell onto the passenger seat. Damn it. She glanced up to find Cole returning alone.
Salty drops slid into her eyes. Maybe she could get it if she sat back in her seat. And her shoes...
He was studying the stadium as he walked. Carla wriggled again onto her back, sliding as far as she could into her seat. She shoved her shoes back on; one of the heels collapsed, she tried again. Meanwhile, Cole turned his gaze to her. She tried to appear calm, all the while searching for the pen behind her as he drew nearer. Her hand found it with just enough time to slide it into her pants and inside her underwear, which kept it snug against her skin. She could feel it poking her and wondered if it was visible from the outside.
“What have you been up to?” he asked, his voice cold. Carla ignored him at first, looking straight ahead. She’d wiped some sweat onto her jacket, but her hair was messed up.
She glared at him, unable to answer.
“Whatever it is you’re doing, it won’t work,” he advised. He unlocked the cuffs again. “Time to get going.”
He drove the SUV down the empty stadium concourse ahead until they reached the Press Room. He’d emptied the SUV of all weaponry and shattered several beer bottles, spreading the glass across the floor. Obviously, this was intended to alert him when someone attempted to rescue her and Anna. She watched him type on the computers, and test the sound system. At one point, he asked her, “Hear that?”
Other than the initial test signals, she heard nothing. It wasn’t until he turned her face to view the ballpark and its surroundings that she saw legions of the undead approach en masse from the hills, slowly ambling toward them. He wanted to make sure she saw them. Carla was amazed and frightened by how many there were.
“High-pitched sound,” he explained. “We can’t hear it, but the crazies can. Like dogs. I hope your friends are ready for this. If they are, it will be a fun, ah, ballgame.”
He’d kept the soundless pitch going, apparently from the huge speakers throughout the park, until the zombies crowded the fences and gates, pushing against them. Some of them found a way in. Carla watched in horror as he hit another switch. The classic organ started the song, and “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” blared through the park. The mob intensified their efforts, pushing their way through any open gates. Soon, they wandered the ball field, their ears attuned to the now-eerie song and the high-pitched signal.
They climbed the stairs, dragged themselves over seats, and more and more came. They made their way into the concourses and smaller halls, searching, yet unable to find the source of the alluring sound.
Cole lit a cigarette and smiled into Carla’s smoldering eyes. “Aren’t you excited, sugar lips?” he asked, though her mouth was taped. She didn’t bat an eye when he exhaled a cloud of smoke into her face. “This is it. The final move, the nitty-gritty, as they used to say.”
Carla fought to appear stoic. She wondered what the others were doing. Jack was probably frantic. She knew they’d come for her. She prayed it was soon. The longer they waited, the worse things would get. That’s how it looked as the music blasted, and they kept coming.
Despite her growing anxiety, she was determined to win the staring game with Cole. She knew police psychology; undoubtedly, he was also well educated in behavioral science. They couldn’t bullshit each other with psychology strategies. She wouldn’t even give him the satisfaction of knowing she was about to pee her pants.
Then the look on Cole’s face changed, and Carla saw what she hoped would never be there. A leering look of mad desire.
“I’m tired of talking to myself,” he said. He reached forward and ripped the tape from her mouth, opening her fat lip again. Blood dripped down Carla’s jaw. “I might let you clean yourself up a little,” he said casually.
“How kind of you.”
“Now, don’t be like that. I’m keeping you alive, aren’t I? I could toss you out there and be done with you just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to untie you. I’ll need your shoes first, and to frisk you. You understand, I’m sure.” He didn’t wait for a response. It was simple to tie her shoes into a complicated knot that would take some work before she could use them again. He pulled her to a standing position and searched her, his hands lingering at her breasts and inner thighs and ignoring the pen stuck into the back of her underwear. Still Carla kept her wits and didn’t break or react. Outwardly. Inside, her rage increased as she swore again she’d see him dead before the end of what she now believed would be a bloody battle on the horizon.